Wicked Game
by Miss.Kick.Ass
Summary: Charles Fitzgerald has lost the one woman he will ever love. Now, all he wishes to do is die. But when a street harlot points him to a witch who can help him, a wicked game begins.  a rewrite of a story I made a while ago and then gave up on.


Charles Fitzgerald stood in front of a large man with thick muscles and a buzz cut. Charles was drunk off some pathetic freshie's blood. He had just lost the one person he EVER loved, and it was all his fault. He shouldn't have bit her. Why, oh, why did he have to do it? The thoughts ran though his head as he stared up at the muscular man.

"What'd you say to me, punk?" asked the muscled man in a deep voice. He flexed his strong arms as he spoke every word. Charles rolled his blood shot eyes at the man.

"Your mother was good in bed last night," said Charles. The crowd of drunken men was staring attentively at them now. The muscled man cracked his knuckles loudly and tilted his head left and right to crack that too. Charles didn't care. He wanted one of two things: Sara back or his death to come tonight.

"You are going to regret saying that," said the man in a threatening voice that sent a shudder around the crowd. No one had ever dared to piss Big John off.

"Really? And how will I regret it?" slurred Charles. Big John lifted his fist quickly, it cut the air like a knife, but Charles' hand flew up in time to catch the fist before it hit his face. He grabbed the wrist in an iron clad grip and began to twist. Big John tried to get out of the grip. Charles was angry now. Angry with himself. Angry at Big John for being unable to knock him out. Angry at the world. And anger that he was still alive. He gritted his pearly white teeth together. Charles could feel his fangs coming out. Big John let out a yell as several loud cracks of bones where heard around the silent bar. Everyone stared at Charles in shock. Big John lay on the floor, clutching his broken hand. Charles stared down at him. He grabbed his key, and turned to Big John.

"Guess no one will make me regret it," he hacked a spit ball from his lips at John's face before walking out of the pub.

He heard footsteps, faint, tiny footsteps. They didn't belong to men, no, they were much to soft and poised. He slowly turned around to see a brunette heading his way. She was dressed in a mini skirt that seemed to go up and up with every step she took, a corset that showed off her curves, and as Charles observed, the woman had wonderful curves, and then there were the high heels that made that soft noise. In a matter of seconds, the brunette was in front of Charles.

"Where you off too, handsome?" she asked as she laid her claw like hands on his battered tuxedo. She smelled of heavy perfumes which were intensified by Charles' strong senses. He grabbed the woman's hands and pushed her away. Not even this street hooker could cheer him up.

She stared up at him, "What's the matter? Don't you like me?" she asked.

"No, I don't," he answered before turning around and moving again. He head the woman's soft footsteps running after him. He picked up pace but stopped and turned around. The hooker bumped right into him. She grabbed him by the badly tied tie around his neck.

"Come on, how about you and I have a little fun?" she breathed into his neck. Charles' temper got the best of him now.

"What's your name?" he asked the hooker.

"Charlotte," she said as she left a trail of kisses from his earlobe to his neck. Charles put his hand on her neck and forced her to look up at him.

"Well, Charlotte, how about this proposition? You leave now and I won't eat you," He vamped, but Charlotte did nothing. It was as if she was expecting this. There was no expression of surprise or fear in her high cheekbone face. Her hands went up to his cold face as she traced his face with her index finger.

"Such a sad face, Charles, lost someone important in your life?" she asked. Charles just stared at her, not uttering a single word as her claws touched his face, "I know someone who can help you bring her back and it won't cost a thing..." she whispered into his ear before gentle biting down on his earlobe. He thought about it for a moment before answering.

"Why would you help me?" he asked. Charlotte looked up at him with what he thought was well acted surprise.

"Because I like you, Charles. I don't do this for everyone," she answered. Charles stared at her. He wanted to kill her, and he could easily do it.

"What's in it for you?" he asked."Nothing," she answered, "Nothing at all. If you are interested, though, I suggest you go to The Dead Vile Pub and ask for Anne Autumns. She can help you greatly," Charlotte kissed Charles' jaw line before looking up at him, "Good-bye Charles," she grinned a sly grin and walked away. He watched as her hips moved back and forth and then disappeared into the Dead Vile was only a few walks away. Charles looked around. He had lost everything important to him and this woman, Anne Autumns, could bring it all back? What did he have to lose? He started for the Pub.

The Dead Vile Pub smelled of herbs and cherries. He coughed as he entered the pub. At the left corner were men in suits. They were pale, but handsome. Vampires, like himself.

In the middle of the pub, were three gypsies. They were huddled over a small crystal ball, each one had a hand on the orb. They were dressed in long shiny skirts with several beads hanging over them. Their shirts were tied at the back and they wore head scarves and bandannas around their heads. The typical traveling gypsy. They were waiting for someone naive enough to believe them.

In the far right corner of the bar was a woman dressed in a black cocktail dress. She looked around the room in amusement as she watched the little groups. She sipped on her wine and looked right at Charles with a grin. He felt drawn to the beautiful woman, and walked over to her."What is it that you need, child?" she was not from LA, that's for sure. He accent was heavy with the culture of the buoys of New Orleans. She was beautiful. She had caramel blond hair and bright blue eyes that stared down at Charles. And high cheek bones that fit her jaw line well.

"Do you happen to know where I can find Anne Autumns?" he asked. The woman grinned and sipped on her red wine. She put the glass down and wiped off her lip before answering the man.

"You are talking to her, darling," grinned the woman. She grabbed her purse and pulled out a strange assertion of coins and set them on the table, "It is not good to do business here," she shot a glare at the gypsies who looked up from their crystal ball, "Come now, Charles, isn't it?" she got up and started walking towards the back of the pub.

Charles followed her though the back and out of the pub. After a few twists and turns they reached a small, shabby looking shop called The River Styx. Anna went though her purse and grabbed her key,

"I don't normally get costumers this late in the night," she answered as she put the key in and twisted it around to open the walked inside and Charles saw volumes of books, herbs, voodoo dolls, and black candles at the far left side. At the right were a group of tables at which the witch took a seat at. She beckoned for Charles to join her. He walked over and sat at the opposite.

"Are you here because you want to bring your lover back?" she questioned. Charles looked at her with surprise.

"How do you know these things?" he questioned. She grinned."Ah, that is my secret knowledge. Now, come, tell me what happened to Sarah, isn't it?" the look on Charles face was saddened. He didn't want to talk about what he had done. He was ashamed by it.

"Come, now, I cannot help you if you do not wish to talk about it," she said.

"She wanted to be turned. I tried, but I failed," he said simply. Autumns grinned.

"And what happened to Sarah after you bit her?" Anne already knew the answer to this question. She was testing to see how far and how much Charles would tell her.

"She fell into a coma," his answers were short. Always short. She could see that love had pained him.

"How far are you willing to go to get her back?" she asked. Charles stared at the exotic woman for a moment, thinking his answer though carefully.

"I'd be willing to go as far as possible," he answered, "I love her."

"Very well, Charles," She grinned.

The exotic witch got up from her seat and went to the vast bookshelf behind her. She ran her fingers across the back of the books until she found the one she was looking for. She pulled it off the shelf and looked at Charles. She winked at him as she went over to another table and picked up a piece of paper. She set the piece of paper on the table along with the book.

"There is a small price you must pay for my services. I do not want money; I do not value it. I will return your beloved Sarah to you as a vampire. As for payment, in fifty years time, I shall come back to you, Charles. And you, your body, and what's left of your soul, shall be in my debt," said the witch.

Charles looked at her and at the piece of paper she had set on the table. It was a contract. He was willing to do anything for Sara. Fifty years was a long time away. He remembered his promise. Get Sara back or his death shall come tonight. Charles pulled out a pen from his pocket and took the contract in his hands. He was about to sign it when Autumns grabbed his hand. She shook her head, a coy grin played on her face.

"This contract requires more than ink. It is a blood contract," she answered. He stared at her for a moment as she released his hand.

"Very well," said Charles. He brought his wrist to his mouth and let his fangs protrude out. He bit into his wrist and then brought it over to the contract. The blood dripped down from his wrist and onto the sheet of paper. Once enough blood had fallen, he pulled his wrist back and stared at Anne Autumns.

"Perfect," she purred as she took the contract away. She rolled up the piece of paper and tied it with a red ribbon.

She opened the spell book she had brought out. It was leather bound with a strange decoration Charles could not recognize. Autumns flipped through many pages before she found the one she was looking for. She grinned up at Charles.

"Do you have something that belongs to your love?" she asked. Charles rummaged though his pockets and pulled out a locket he had given Sarah for her birthday. She had loved the locket. He handed it over to Autumns.

She took the golden locket and placed it on the table in front of her. She held out her hands and began to chant the spell in the book.

_Vinco of obscurum iacio tergum animus quod has been captus in locus of alius. Vestri mos vadum exsisto servo per a gravis manus manus. Refero Sarah Whitley pro servitus illae lamia._

The locket shook and a wind had picked up around the room. There was a feeling of cold that stung at the bones. Charles attempted to pick up the necklace, but it burned the tips of his fingers. He pulled them back and looked at Anne.

"When you get home, Sarah shall be awake and waiting for you. She will know nothing about her time in limbo," answered Anne. She picked up the locket which seemed to have no effect on her and placed it around the contract. "You are free to leave," she told him.

Charles got up from his chair and stared at Anne Autumns. He was questioning if he had done the right thing. What would Sarah say to him in fifty years. He thought about it for a moment, then decided it didn't matter. Fifty years would be enough. An hour with her would be enough.

"Thank you for your help, Ms. Autumns," he said as he turned to the door. It opened with a ring of a bell and he walked out of the shop. Anne picked up her spell book and began to carry it to the back of the shop when she heard the door open again. She didn't need to look behind her to know who it was.

"Charlotte," she said simply.

"Don't do that," huffed Charlotte, "You know I don't like it when you can tell I'm here," she said.

"I didn't read your aurora or your mind or whatever you think I do, dear," grinned Anne, "I saw you bloody reflection in the mirror," she pointed to the round Victorian style mirror in front of her. Charlotte rolled her eyes.

"Did he take the bait?" she asked. Anne held up the contract as her way of answering. Charlotte grinned.

"And let me guess, you silly harlot, you want a piece of the profit?" asked Anne.

"Well, I did direct him to you..." Charlotte answered coyly. Anne rolled her eyes.

"If you are alive in fifty two years time, you may have him, Charlotte," grinned Anne. Charlotte smiled.

"You know, you and I could be quite a tag team," she told Anne. Anne turned and looked at her.

"I work alone," she answered. Her tolerance level of Charlotte was fading quickly.

"But surely-" began Charlotte.

"Leave Charlotte," ordered Anne. Something inside Charlotte forced her feet to move and out the door she went. Anne, irritated beyond belief, locked the shop door. Spells like the one she had performed took a lot of energy. "Stupid harlot," she mumbled as she disappeared into the back of the shop.


End file.
